


Citrus

by ethotlliot (eggpainter)



Series: ethot’s dream and team x reader oneshots [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alpha Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Come Marking, F/M, Kidnapping, Organized Crime, Overstimulation, Rope Bondage, Scent Marking, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29881272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggpainter/pseuds/ethotlliot
Summary: My boyfriend is... not a nice guy, per say.While he's always been kind to me, a doting alpha that keeps me satisfied and taken care of, I know his line of work is... unsavory. The first few times he came home covered with blood, I was worried sick, hands exploratory, trying to rip the fabric off and find the wound to treat it. But, the closer I got, breathing in the coppery tang mixed with his scent, I realized it wasn't his blood.It's never his blood.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/Reader
Series: ethot’s dream and team x reader oneshots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181060
Comments: 16
Kudos: 139





	Citrus

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry this is so self indulgent its almost nauseating
> 
> arrest me for horny crimes on main

My boyfriend is... not a nice guy, per say.

While he's always been kind to me, a doting alpha that keeps me satisfied and taken care of, I know his line of work is... unsavory. The first few times he came home covered with blood, I was worried sick, hands exploratory, trying to rip the fabric off and find the wound to treat it. But, the closer I got, breathing in the coppery tang mixed with his scent, I realized it wasn't his blood.

It's never his blood. 

***

"You knew the risks when you got involved with me— you can't just fucking act like you're any other person! I can't—"

I flinch as my boyfriend raises his voice, then interrupt. "I am any other person!" I say back. "I just want to get some fucking breakfast without knowing there's a man with a loaded fucking gun next to me! It feels horrible, don't you get that? I know you just— want me safe but I feel like I can't fucking relax with your goons in my ass all the time. I just— I want a fucking chance to breathe, Clay." 

He ticks his jaw, lifting his hand to run it through his hair. The air in the room is sour, bitter, acrid. He's pacing, restless, on edge from the waves of pure displeasure I'm sure are rolling off of me right now. 

Good. 

He deserves to be uncomfortable. 

We only got into this stupid fucking argument because I asked if I could meet with my friends alone tomorrow morning. No bodyguard. We were originally supposed to meet them together, but, he has business in the morning.

He always has fucking business.

"That's—" He starts, blowing a tense breath. "No. You need to take Nick with you. You are not permitted to take a single fucking step out of this house tomorrow if Nick is not with you, do you understand?" 

I hate his tone of voice. I tilt my head, staring at him. "Oh, I'm sorry alpha, do I need to surrender my fucking right to breathe next? Just because I'm your weak little omega bitch? Maybe you should tie me up and keep me here forever? I promise I won't leave without your permission, alpha." I sneer.

Clay hates that most, the implication that he's some kind of trad—alpha jackass.

He looks utterly disgusted with me. 

"You know this has nothing to do with your dynamic." He says low, nearly growled.

I roll my eyes. "Sorry alpha! Did I speak out of line alpha?" I mock back.

Clay growls again, frustrated. "Stop. This has nothing to—" 

I interrupt. "Yes alpha! Of course alpha! How could I ever—" 

"Stop."

His voice sends a jolt of heat to my core, words frozen in my throat, the burning impulse for me to tilt my head back in submission overwhelmingly present.

This asshole. He just used his alpha voice. I cannot stand when he uses his alpha voice.

I can't stop the whine that slips, involuntary. His face drops, the realization of what he just did setting in. There's silence from both of us, dread caught in our throats as the gravity of the situation and his actions settle in.

"Fuck you." I spit back, the second the effects have worn off, then I'm up.

I storm to our room, slam the door shut, lock it, then collapse into our bed. It's embarrassing how fast I roll to his side, burying my face into the silk covering his pillow, dragging in jagged, sharp, labored lungfuls of his scent to calm down and clear my nose of the lingering bitter smell of his anger.

He smells like saltwater, citrus. It's sand stuck to your skin on a beach day, that first sip from an ice cold can of orange soda as sweat beads down your neck. I twist my hands in the sheets, frustrated.

It's comfort, home— and it's pissing me the fuck off.

I just want to see my friends.

I want to get breakfast with my friends tomorrow morning and feel relaxed and not have a fucking armed man standing next to me.

I want to talk about Clay, talk about my life. 

I love him enough that it hurts, hollows me out, carves me to the core, but I can't fucking stand being pinned in a cage like this, only permitted to leave with someone plastered to my fucking back.

I want to be normal.

I hear a soft rapping of knuckles against the door, startling me from my thoughts. 

"I'm sorry." I hear Clay speak, muffled, gentle.

I respond with silence.

"Sweetheart?" He asks. "Can I please come in?" 

I whimper, hopefully inaudible, and turn my face back into his pillow.

He can sleep on the fucking couch.

***

I wake up cold, groggy, pawing at the side of the bed opposite to me. I seek Clay's warmth, coming up empty. I crack my eyes, slowly blinking the half-warm sun that cascades across my face from the adjacent window. Finally conscious enough to look at the empty bed laid out in front of me, disappointment settles.

Right.

I didn't let him sleep in here last night, and, after a cursory sniff of the air, I can tell he's already left the house. 

I huff a sigh, taking a moment to let my feelings settle, before I roll, swinging my legs out of the bed and lifting to standing. I open the bedroom door, careful, and catch my eyes on a white paper bag sitting on the floor, nearly in the doorway.

I duck down to pick it up, and see writing on the side. 

'I'm sorry. I'll be home for lunch.'

I open the bag, and find a pastry from a café we frequent. It's my favorite, a spiced chai cookie with a cinnamon and orange glaze. It's something Clay bought me on our first date there, because he said it smelled exactly like me. 

I close the bag, emotions tangled in my chest, torn between the feelings of care, nostalgia, the understanding that he just wants me safe, and the bitter anger that I'm not 'allowed' to leave.

I would just walk out, but I know I wouldn't make it far before— 

I glance up. Sitting, posted at the front door is Nick, dressed in pressed dress pants, a suit jacket over a turtleneck, and sharp oxfords. It's close to the stupid get up my Clay wears, except he wears a dress shirt, tie, and vest. Still, both are all black. 

We look at each other.

"Good morning ma'am." Nick says, and I roll my eyes.

For an alpha, he's careful to be respectful. Though, he's almost too respectful sometimes.

"G'morning." I say back, then huff. "Also don't call me that." 

I step toward him, and he stands up, crossing his hands in front of his lap. I walk all the way up to him, lifting to my tip toes to push my hand into his hair, fixing it into place.

I like Nick, don't get me wrong.

He's young, kind, and always sweet to me, but... sometimes I just want to be alone.

"I assume I'm not allowed to leave without you?" I ask, smiling as I see the light red flush climbing his cheeks.

"N-no ma'am." He says.

I catch a breath of him. His scent is much more subtle. He smells like bonfires and late nights, cedar smoke that lingers on your clothes for hours, and, if you get close enough, the sticky smell of marshmallow fluff melting against your fingertips. It's comforting, but I don't know how much of that is just his alpha pheromones rotting my brain.

I realize, now, that spending the night sleeping apart from my alpha has had an effect: his scent has faded. It leaves me ungrounded, particularly needy, seeking him out.

I puff my cheeks out once I realize, pouting, and take a step back. 

"I just told you not to call me that." I chastise, then brush past him, heading for the bathroom.

Maybe a shower will clear my brain from the biological fog that has seeped into it. I shut the door behind me, strip, then hop into a scalding hot shower. I don't notice until I'm almost done that I'm washing with Clay's cheap soap. I don't know why he insists on using it.

I look at my own pile of expensive, good-for-your-skin soaps longingly. But, I take another breath, inhaling the familiar scent of his soap coating my skin, and something in my chest settles. 

Maybe I need this to make up for what I'm missing.

I finish my shower, wrap myself in a towel, put on Clay's deodorant, then realize, overwhelmingly, I stink like a man. It covers my own scent.

I pout again, just to fuss, and decide to head to the closet and pick a perfume so I can at least somewhat smell like something familiar. I swing the closet doors open without a second thought, and get greeted by an immediate clatter. 

I groan in frustration, staring at the spilled contents of a shelf-basket strewn on the floor. 

I drop to a crouch, shuffling through the items, throwing them back in the basket. But, I lift an item that makes me pause. It's a small white box, unopened, Benadryl.

I pause, thinking. 

The last time I took this... was in middle school. I went to a friend's house and they had a dog, I started itching, she gave me Benadryl, I woke in the hospital. 

Apparently, the specific brand of heat suppressants I was using plus Benadryl equalled a knock out. 

I gnaw my lip, considering this information, considering what I want. Maybe it's a sign. Nick can't stop me from leaving if he's not fucking conscious.

But— Nick is a sweet boy— I shouldn't— I mean— 

...well, I was fine, I woke up after a couple hours— plus he's an alpha and bigger than me, he'd definitely be fine.

I purse my lips, fiddling with the box, then decide fuck it. Keeping a hold of it, I wrap my towel around my body tight. I poke just my head out. 

"I'm in a towel!" I call out to the house, waiting for just a moment, then step out. 

As I pass Nick, he's turned away, facing a wall, his arms stiffly crossed. I head straight to my bedroom with the medicine in hand, unnoticed. 

I toss the box down and go over to my vanity, sifting through the drawers. I haven't been on heat suppressants in six months, not since I got involved with Clay. But, I'm sure... I still have— ah-ha!

I produce a half used bottle of suppressants from a random drawer. I toss it down on the bed, right next to the allergy medicine. Looking at them sitting next to each other, I have another wave of doubt and guilt. 

Is this right?

I quickly brush it off.

I want out. Alone. Just once. It'll be fine, and Nick will be fine, and everything will be fine.

I busy myself getting ready and getting dressed, nothing too fancy, just a short dress. I consider myself in it for a moment, chewing my cheek, and put an over-sized cardigan to swallow my figure and make me a bit more ambiguously shaped.

I realize, standing in front of the mirror, that I'm nervous, an unsettled tremble in my chest.

I wonder if Clay will be angry with me? I've seen him angry before, once, when I got harassed by a random alpha when we were out a bit too close to my heat. 

The guy grabbed my waist, then Clay broke his arm.

That's the first and last time I think I've ever truly seen him angry, and, it wasn't with me. 

I twist my wrist in my grip, and take a shuddered breath. I'm allowed to leave. That's something I'm allowed to do. He doesn't fucking own me. If he gets angry with me, that's on him. 

I nod, sure of myself, and slip on the watch he gave me for my birthday, along with a ring he gave me, and a necklace... he gave me. 

I walk to the bed, convince myself what I'm doing is okay one more time, then slip one of each tablet into my pocket. I walk out of the room, a nervous sweat dusting my collar, and head straight for the kitchen, starting the electric kettle. 

"Coffee or tea, today?" I call out to Nick, craning my neck to peer at him.

He turns to look at me, his brows drawing in tight. He walks forward, until he's hovering in the doorway of the kitchen.

"I thought you were meeting friends?" He asks.

I chew my cheek, then shrug. 

"Decided not to." Is all I say, simple. "Coffee or tea?"

Nick makes a noise, looking a bit lost, but steps forward. 

"Uh— tea— uh— please." He mumbles out.

I nod, grab two mugs, then open the cabinet.

"What kind?" I ask.

"Your choice." He says back. 

I purse my lips, dive my hand in, then grab two packets of the strongest smelling tea I can find, hoping that means the flavor will be strong enough to cover the taste of medicine. 

I drop each bag in their individual mugs, then cover them with hot water and bring it to the other counter. In my tea, I put sugar. In his, I put the same, then dip into my pocket and carefully slip the meds in. I stir until dissolved, keeping a mental note on which is which, then walk back to the counter. 

I consider the area for a moment, looking at Nick as he teeters on a kitchen barstool, folded over the counter, and remember how quick I passed out from this. I run my tongue over a veneer, remembering I hit the ground hard enough to chip my tooth. 

"Come sit with me!" I coo, then walk out to the living room with both drinks.

I settle on a couch, one of the longer ones, then pull my knees up. It takes a moment, but Nick appears, sitting down right next to me. I carefully push his mug into his hands, then watch, frozen, as he brings it to his lips. 

Oh God, it's happening.

Before I can get too excited, he pulls the cup away with a drawn brow, and sniffs.

I freeze, wondering if I'm already caught.

Nick opens his mouth, and I brace for the worst.

I'm pleasantly surprised when, instead, he says: "Weird. This smells just like you." 

He sniffs the drink one more time, then tilts it back. He finishes the entire mug in one go, then drops it to the coffee table and burps. 

I blink. I couldn't have— scripted that to go better. 

A few minutes pass, only occupied by idle conversation between us about the mundane. How's the weather? How's school? How's your parents? 

"So, you're not meeting your friends today... why?" Nick asks.

I look at him, chewing my cheek. 

"I just— it feels wrong to drag you along and— they don't know what you're there for— and— I'm tired of being— guarded." I say, a real admission. I duck my head, a waver in my voice as I speak. "I just want to be alone with my friends. Once." I look up. "No offense to you."

Nick lands his hand on my knee with a reassuring pat. 

"I get it." He says. 

I give him a half-hearted smile. 

"Clay just—" Nick continues. "He just wants you to be safe. He's a very—" his voice tapers off.

I look up, seeing him rapidly blinking, lifting and rolling his shoulders. My stomach flips.

"You okay?" I ask.

Nick twitches, like he's trying to shake something off. "Yeah— I'm— good, I—" He says again, his brow drawing tight.

I suck in a breath and hold it.

Nick grimaces, then looks up at me, a quiet desperation in the flick of his eyes as he loses control of his body. 

"I don't—" He starts, taking a heavy breath, then his eyes roll back.

He wavers for just a moment before slumping over, limp, his head landing in my lap. 

Well, that was surprisingly effective. It's a good thing I moved us to the couch. 

I drop my mug to the coffee table, then squirm, getting out from under him. I use what strength I have to handle Nick into a laying position, propping his head with a pillow. Once he looks... comfortable, I pat his head. 

"Sorry Nicky." I say, then puff a sigh of relief. 

It worked. I've got about— I check my watch, then set a timer for three hours. 

I stand there for just a moment, hovering, a small tremble in my chest. I guess I'm— free to go, essentially, which feels... weird. 

Then... I feel weird that it feels weird.

I move again, stiff, feeling like I'm on autopilot as I slip into my shoes and snag my bag, heading for the door. I pause one more time, considering myself in the entryway mirror. My face looks... guilty. 

I spend a moment, pursing my lips, scrunching my brows, trying to wipe my expression clear. 

It's okay. I'm okay.

I give myself one last look, checking my outfit. Then, I dig through my bag, double-checking that I have everything. 

Phone, wallet, keys, cash... 

Pepper spray, knife, emergency secondary phone.

Clay's always been a security freak, as if the armed guard wasn't enough, he forces me to carry those three things. That, and he paid for me to take a self-defense class.

I'm sure I'll be fine.

I open the front door, take the first step out, and pause, blinking the sun from my eyes. I'll have to walk. It's been awhile since I wasn't just... driven somewhere. 

Maybe it will be nice.

I roll the tension from my shoulders, breathe in the air, and start my twenty minute journey. 

I start on edge, jumping at every noise and every breeze that moves too fast. I eye every person I pass like a potential threat. But, as time goes on, and nothing happens... I start to relax. 

Enjoy myself, even. 

The sun beating down on my face is warm, pleasant. The idea that I'm here alone, as nerve wracking as it is, is freeing. It's like a breath of fresh air. I mean — it's literally a breath of fresh air. 

I take my time, and show up fifteen minutes late. 

I step in the diner, immediately catching eyes with my two friends, and lift a hand to wave. They beam, waving right back as I approach. I slide into the booth, bumping shoulders with Harvey, meeting eyes with George and flashing him a smile.

"Hi!" I coo out.

Harvey immediately claps an arm around my upper back, pulling me into an affection filled half-hug. 

"You're late. Didn't think you'd show." He says back to me.

"I'm happy you could make it. I was worried you wouldn't." George follows up.

I shrug. "Yeah. Sorry about the lateness. It took me awhile to get ready." I respond.

There's quiet for only a second before Harvey bumps my shoulder.

"Just you?" He asks, looking around. 

"Yeah. Just me." I say back.

Harvey lifts his brows, head tilting like he wants to ask. George's quicker.

"That's a shame. Nick's nice." He grins. 

Harvey huffs a laugh, looking coy. "Yeah he sure is... nice." 

I make a noise. 

George reaches across the table, slapping his arm. "Not like that." He leans back in his seat, just as a waitress approaches. 

It takes a second for us to organize our thoughts, but we all manage to order food. 

George fixes his attention right back on me. "So, how's life?" He asks.

I hum, planting my chin in my hand. "It's been— really good, honestly. Sorry Clay isn't here, he was so excited to meet you guys but his job is—" I bite my cheek, cutting myself short. 

George nods. "It's all good. How's uh— how's that going? You and Clay?" 

"Good—" I start, thrumming my fingers against the table. "Mostly good. We're in a little bit of a fight right now because last night he alpha voiced me, but... in general we're good." 

George's eyebrows shoot up. Before he can respond, Harvey butts in.

"Alpha voiced you? He alpha voiced you?" Harvey questions.

"Yeah—" I start, shoulders raised. "But like— it's not— he did it on accident. He's not like that." 

Harvey shakes his head. "God. Alphas. I got alpha voiced last week, too— remember that guy—" 

"The rich fucker?" George butts in to ask. 

"The rich fucker." Harvey repeats back. "He asked me to get on my knees, I said no, then he commanded me to get on my knees. After he was done, I left and cut contact. I don't have to put up with any of that." 

"Good for you." I say, brows lifted. "I got alpha voiced and froze before running away to cry, not nearly as impressive."

"God I can't— imagine how scary it is to lose your control when alphas decide to be dipshits like that." George butts in. 

I turn to give him a half-hearted smile. While Harvey and I share the omega dynamic, George has always been a beta.

Harvey hums. "It wasn't too hard to snap out of it. I didn't like— love the guy or anything, and we weren't bonded, so it was easy enough to tell him to fuck off." He sighs as I land a hand on his arm, trying to reassure him. "It's just always annoying— the second you think you've got a good one you're dutifully reminded you're seen as a sub-human fuck toy." He looks at me, like he knows something,

I protest. "No! That's not— Clay's not like that. I swear. We were just— it was a dumb fight." I stop, realizing I can't give the whole story. He probably does kind of seem like a dick.

"Sure." George says.

"Sure." Harvey says.

I pout. "I know I'm being vague, but I swear he treats me like I'm all the stars in the sky. It's just— he's complicated." 

"Sure." Harvey repeats.

I glare at him, but George saves me. 

"Fair enough. I mean— I just hope we can meet him some day." He laughs.

I nod, taking a breath of relief. "God, yeah, if I can get him pinned down long enough." 

Harvey ooh's, and I turn to look. He looks coy. "You pin your alpha down? You kinky freak—" He starts. 

I interrupt, elbowing him in the stomach before I lean back, glaring at him. I curl into a smile.

"Maybe sometimes." I tease, and both of them burst into shouted laughter, loud enough people turn to look. 

Despite Harvey being a pest. I pause and realize, for the first time since I've started dating Clay— I'm able to talk. Unmonitored. Unfiltered.

Well, mostly unfiltered. I'm definitely filtering the 'I think he might kill people for a living' part. 

But— it's nice to talk about the good bits. How we fuck, how we fight, how we get along, how we're definitely in love, and know that it's a private conversation. It's relieving, relaxing. 

We talk for hours, and it's like a weight off my chest.

I don't regret anything. 

***

"You walked? You're kidding?" 

I shrug, stretching, full, walking shoulder to shoulder between George and Harvey. We're down a side street where Harvey parked because 'it's free and I lost my sugar daddy, George' as he said. I wrinkle my nose because the alley stinks— though I can't pinpoint if it's from the dumpster or from the mysterious looking fluid running down into a drain.

"It's a nice day." I say back, it's truth enough, better than 'sorry! I'm not allowed to leave on my own! I had to heist to even be here right now!'. 

"I'm giving you a ride home." He says, simple. 

I look up at him, grinning, toothy. 

"You'd go out of your way for lil ole me?" I ask.

Harvey bumps my shoulder with his own. "It's no bother. Plus—"

"He just wants to see where you live." George pipes up from behind us. 

My brows lift, realizing neither has been to Clay's house since I've moved in. 

"Oh, then, George come too so you can both get to see the new house." I say, watching as their faces light up. 

"Really?" George asks, as Harvey opens the door to his car. "I thought you were gonna tell us to fuck off." 

I turn to grin at him, just in time to watch as a man rounds the corner from behind George, walking toward us at an alarming speed. 

What the fuck is—

It seems to happen in slow motion, my body frozen as I watch the man's arm snap out, wrapping George in a chokehold.

His other hand holds a gun. It's trained on us.

If I can just get into my bag—

I take an unsteady step back, heart caught in my throat. I collide with something solid, then feel, numb, as a hand claps over my mouth, covering the whine that builds in my throat.

A panic seeds in my stomach, chest going tight. 

I fight, trying to break free, but the hands on me go tighter, holding me in place, hard enough I know it will bruise. A black SUV turns down the alley, and before I can blink, the three of us are dragged inside, bound, and gagged. 

Kneeling on the cold metal in the back of the car, I nearly collapse, a tremble building in my chest. 

What will Clay think? When his omega ends up dead or worse?

I should have listened to him.

I hang my head, whines heavy in my throat, eyes glancing between my two friends in similar distress, panic sharp in my stomach, carving me hollow. 

This is my fault this is happening to them.

All because I didn't fucking listen.

Hands land on me again, rough, demanding. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, bracing as they drag along my body, only opening them once the hands are off.

"She had two phones." The man says to the driver of the vehicle, then moves on to George, next.

I fold, tears hot in my eyes, trying to not listen to the whines of my friends as they get similarly man-handled. 

All I can do is wait.

And hope.

Hope that I didn't fuck up for the last time, that Clay finds us, and fixes this.

It's silent. I share panicked glances with my friends. I wish I could apologize to them, beg for forgiveness. 

The standing man who searched me approaches holding a cloth. I flinch back, kicking out, trying to get away from him, but I'm not quick enough.

The cloth lands on my face, a slight chemical smell in my nose. I thrash, fighting until I can't, until my body goes limp. I manage to blink, once, slow, before my vision goes black.

***

I wake up cold. 

My arms twitch to move, reach out.

If I can just grab Clay, tug him to my side of the bed, I know he'll warm me up.

But— my hands won't move—

I blink, slow, bleary vision barely able to focus, before there's a rush of remembrance, like ice cold water. I sit up with a start, desperately pulling at the bindings around my wrists, whimpering out when I feel they're fastened behind my back.

I look around, trying to take in my surroundings before panic sets in.

The room we're in is grey, all concrete walls and old beams. It feels like a basement, with it's low ceiling and damp air. Flanking me are Harvey and George, both already awake. In front of me is the man who drove, standing, with his back toward us, at the bottom of a staircase like he's guarding it.

I bite the gag in my mouth, violently fighting and moving to break free. 

The man turns to stare at me.

"Stop." He says, simple. I refuse, continuing to thrash. 

"Stop." He demands this time, voice hard, serious, unrelenting. My body falls limp before I can help it.

He's an alpha, then.

Weirdly enough— I can't smell any pheromones in the air other than my friend's, my own scent still muddled by Clay's soap and deodorant. 

"Annoying little thing." The man mutters, then turns away again.

I whimper, wanting to curl into a ball, humiliated, helpless. I feel warmth to my side, and look up, seeing George has shuffled closer to me. I lift to support myself against his side. Harvey looks— gone, distant, I assume similarly effected by his instinct to submit. George is the only one here who can say shit to them.

There's only a few moments of peace before the man standing steps out of the way, and two more men descend the staircase, walking in, both looking— calm. Like they haven't just kidnapped three human people.

"Finally caught you." The man in the back says, staring down at his hands. "But you're never really alone, huh? Had to make shit hard for me." 

I hang my head.

This is really my fault. 

"Harvey." The man says, and I tilt my head up to watch as he kneels, solely focused on Harvey, pulling his gag from his mouth.

The second he does, Harvey spits in his face. 

"I want nothing to do with you." He bites out. "We're through." 

Wait—

Is this—

Not about me?

I whine, looking at Harvey with a confused expression. He glances back at me.

"I'm sorry— I didn't— this is my fault I didn't—" 

He's silenced by a hit across his face. 

"I didn't give you permission to talk to them." The man says, holding Harvey's jaw.

Harvey looks scared, his breath labored, his pupils blown.

"You're listening to me, now." He says, followed by the sick crack of another hit.

It makes me flinch, wanting to curl in on myself, hide forever.

"I missed you Harvey." The man says. "If you want your friends to live, you'll mate with me." 

My stomach churns at the words. I'm not particularly strong or brave, but I can't sit here and let this disgusting bastardization of mating be forced on my friend. 

I jerk over as fast as I can, swinging my head to knock the man's arm away from Harvey. The man retracts his arm, shifting his focus to me, glaring.

"The fuck is this?" The man asks, then I'm grabbed and lifted by the collar of my shirt. "I didn't expect the little omega bitch to be a problem." He growls out, meeting my eyes.

I'm rolling off waves of discontent, meeting his eyes, protectiveness and anger burning in my chest. The guilt fades now that I realize this isn't my fault.

"Leave him the fuck alone." 

I'm dropped back to the floor. 

"Sit." The man says. 

Despite me wanting to shoot back up, shove myself at him, my limbs lock into place. 

I take a steadying breath. I know I can fight it, twitching to move, feeling like I weigh a million pounds as I strain against the instinct to listen. I manage to break it, like breaking a spell, and swing toward the man again. I'm caught, thrown to the ground like a paper doll, held in place as I thrash and fight to move. In the flurry of limbs, my gag is caught and pulled off.

I take the opportunity and lunge in, sinking my teeth into the man's wrist, deep enough to draw blood. It tastes coppery in my mouth, the tang only bearable because I see the pain warping his face. Two of his men step up, grabbing and ripping me away from him.

Before they can get far, I split the man's blood back in his face, watching him recoil as it sprays. The man steps back, expression enraged, entire focus trained on me.

Good. 

I want it on me. Not on Harvey, not on George. I can take it.

"You're a feisty little fucking bitch." He bites out, then raises his hand, striking me across the face.

The pain is sharp, stinging, and I know a bruise will be left.

"You might die for that—" I bite out, trying to steady myself through the pain, struggling against the two men holding me.

My face is grabbed, squeezed in the grip of the man.

"What did you just fucking say?" He asks, venomous. 

This time, I look him in the eyes as I speak. 

"My alpha is not a very nice guy. He'll be even less nice if I'm hurt." I pause to breathe, "You might die for that." I repeat, then spit blood in his face again. 

He blinks at me in disbelief, before he pulls back, shaking his head. 

"I think I'm going to kill you first." The man says.

I squint, trying to steady myself through the panic those words onset. 

"Let us go and my alpha will be lenient. He might let you live." I say, as sure as I can be in my conviction.

I don't know what Clay is, or what he does, but I have nothing if not a strong bluff. An omega is only as strong as their alpha, and vice versa.

It earns me another hit, hard enough I collapse to the floor as the men holding me let go. It's followed by a kick to the stomach that makes me feel sick, nausea from the pain flooding my head.

"I suggest you shut the fuck up. No one is coming for you. And—" He takes a step back, staring down at me with a smug look. "—if your alpha tries, I'll kill him, too." 

I'm grabbed by one of his other men, having my head tilted back as they try to force the gag back into my mouth. I fight it, turning my face away, snapping my teeth toward anything I can reach.

"Leave it." The man says. "I like to hear them scream anyways."

Suddenly, I'm dropped back down. The man approaches, reeling back, and kicking me in the stomach again, harsh. He spits on me, I assume, in return for what I did to to him. 

He then turns to Harvey. "Think about my offer. You don't want blood on your hands, do you?"

Harvey whines, shaking his head no.

"Good." The man says, finally turning away, beckoning his men to follow. "I'll be back." He says.

I curl into a ball, rocking to comfort myself through the pain. I watch through wavering vision as all of the men walk out of the room, closing the door behind them with a click.

Harvey is on me, immediate, knocking his forehead to mine.

"I'm sorry— I'm sorry— this is— I'm sorry—" He repeats, whined. I can tell he's forcing himself to roll pheromones of comfort, safety, and I have to admit: it works. 

Some of the panic and pain settles, immediate.

"What are you doing you fucking— idiot? Don't antagonize—" Harvey starts.

"S'okay." I interrupt, swallowing around the lump in my throat. 

I'd rather me than him.

"It's not okay. You're going to get yourself fucking killed. Just let them focus me, it's my fault— I—" Harvey tries to continue, panicked.

"It's okay." I interrupt. "My alpha will come get us. It's okay." I grit out, exhaling and trying to believe it myself. 

"Clay can't do shit— these guys are dangerous— I should've never— God I'm an idiot—" Harvey continues, taking shakier breaths, scent warping into panic.

I manage to blink my eyes open, giving him as reassuring of a look as I can muster.

"There are things about Clay you don't know." I mumble, watching Harvey's brows twitch in, a look of disbelief warping his expression.

"What the fuck is going on?" George finally asks, interrupting our conversation, a question I had myself.

I turn to look, seeing he's managed to push his gag off as well. I feel Harvey go tense beside me. When he speaks it's nervous, quiet.

"S'my fault I— the guy— he's— that's the guy I ghosted— I didn't think— I never thought he'd do something like this I—" I hear him taper off, taking panicked breaths. 

"I knew he was bad news but it was— exciting— fun— the money and the— power I guess but— I guess this is how—" Harvey tries to speak between labored inhales. Sounds familiar.

I bump him with my forehead again, before gritting my teeth and sitting up, spitting out what might be my own blood, this time. 

"Just breathe." I mumble, quiet, leaning in toward Harvey. "It'll be alright."

We only have a moment before George speaks again.

"How can you say that? We'll be alright? Who the fuck is coming for us? Harvey just said these guys are dangerous— I—"

I look up at him, drawing my knees to my chest and dropping my chin down on them. 

"Clay..." I start, then take a shuddered breath. "Is dangerous, too." Is what I say, all I say, because it's about all I know. 

George rolls his eyes. 

"I love you— I do— but you omegas go fucking blind for your alphas. They're nothing special." He bites back.

I nod at the words. I don't think further explanation is going to help convince him. We're all stressed— and I probably just sound like I'm talking out of my fucking ass.

Suddenly, my watch chimes.

The timer is up.

Nick should be awake by now. 

He'll be awake, he'll see I'm gone— that I'm not answering my phone. He'll get Clay. We'll be okay. 

Just hold on.

"It'll be okay. I promise." I say, working my wrists until I manage to bump a button and silence the alarm.

The man who was keeping watch earlier walks back in, standing at the foot of the stairs, staring at us.

"No more talking." He speaks with a command, tapping the gun at his waist.

He doesn't speak with an alpha voice, but I'm not stupid enough to try and disobey it.

I fold in on myself, head down, waiting. 

I listen to the footsteps above me, around me, muffled speech filtering down the stairs. We're definitely in a basement, I just don't know where. I'm praying Clay can figure it out. 

I know he'll figure it out.

Minutes pass before the man walks away again.

"Your alpha better hurry." George bites out the second he's out of earshot.

I shake my head, swallowing my fears.

"Give it time." I mutter, just in time for the man to come back.

We speak in brief phrases, quick desperate glances, and hand motions we can sneak between rounds. The guard standing at the stairs swaps around every few minutes with no real rhyme or reason. Sometimes two keep watch, sometimes, for a very communicative few minutes, none do.

So they must not have taken me seriously.

They aren't watching closely, or paying attention.

They think they have us caught, no consequence.

The minutes tick on, and on, and on, until doubt seeds itself, right alongside the hope.

Maybe he isn't coming?

That's not true.

He's coming.

Minutes move, whittling against my resolve, ticking along like nothing.

Why would he come get me?

I knew better than to leave alone— why should he care? He doesn't care.

No. That's not— true. He cares about me a lot.

He must be coming.

Please, Clay.

I need you.

The watchman moves, I assume to switch again. Instead, I realize, he's making room for the the man Harvey was involved with to make an appearance.

"That's interesting." He says. I watch as he approaches, his feet landing right in front of me, in vision of where I keep my eyes fixed to the floor. 

"You're still here. I thought your alpha was coming?" He patronizes.

I continue to look down, refusing to react.

He is coming.

And he's going to rip you apart, limb by limb.

"Look at me." He demands, voice low. 

My eyes snap up in immediate unfightable obedience, staring right at the man. A whine builds in my throat, small, desperate. 

"Oh, I love when omegas are noisy like you." He says, reaching forward with a hand holding a gun. 

The muzzle is pressed under my chin, then used to tilt my head up and back.

Stuck looking at him, I can see the cruelty in his face, the joy he's getting from this. He reels back the hand with the gun, then hits me across the face with it, hard enough I'm knocked into a laying position. The cool metal is sharp, an immediate searing pain blooms where it connected with my face. I close my eyes, fighting to not cry. 

It's a lot different than a hand. It's worse.

Please Clay, please. I'm sorry.

"Stop—" I hear Harvey shout, fluttering my eyes open in time to see him scramble up to standing. "I thought about it. Stop. I'll do— whatever you want, just— stop. Let them go." 

The man purses his lips, looking between me and Harvey. Before he can say another word, there's a bang. It sounds like the door at the top of the stairs, opened with force. The man steps back, anger burning his expression, craning his neck to look.

"I said no one was to interrupt this—" He starts, furious.

As he speaks, I scent the air. I catch a whiff of something familiar. My eyes nearly flutter shut. I wonder, briefly, if I'm fucking imagining things, trying to comfort myself in my last few moments. 

"Dream—" The man holding us here addresses, sounding a lot less angry. "Sir, this is a private—" He stutters to a stop, addressing the person I can't see.

I look up, watching his nostrils flare. 

Mine follow soon after.

The new person is pushing waves of pheromone, thick enough you could choke on it, the air in the room near oppressively belonging to them. It's alpha scent. Citrus. Saltwater. The sand stuck to your legs. There's a thick layer of anger, bitter as it tangles in the scent, but—

It's undeniably Clay's. 

He's here. 

I whine, lifting my head up, trying to get closer. 

There's utter silence in the room, all eyes focused on my alpha as he descends the stairs. He looks around briefly, keeping his gaze on me the second I'm in his line of sight.

Our eyes stay locked, relief and fear blooming in my chest.

I'm safe.

He flexes his hands, then flicks his gaze back to the man who's responsible for this.

"What's going on, here?" He asks, neutral, cold.

The man laughs, though it sounds nervous. "I was just teaching an omega bitch a lesson, nothing for you to worry about, sir." He says. "I promise it's being handled— you don't need to be here—"

"An omega bitch?" Clay asks, briefly flicking his eyes toward me before he stares at the man, dead on.

The man nods.

Clay nods in return, taking a step back to shrug off his suit jacket.

"Did you want a turn? You're welcome to uh— anything you want—" The man continues, looking nervous.

Clay ignores him, instead carefully removing the cufflinks at his wrists and pocketing them, before rolling his sleeves up his forearms. 

"If you wanted a turn with her that's totally fine— but the boy on the right is mine." The man continues, blubbering. "He's not meant to be killed like the other two—"

I look up at Clay, a desperate whine in my throat as he continues to ignore the man and approach. He drops to a crouch in front of me, then lands a hand on my face, cupping my cheek. I press into it, whimpering. 

His skin feels rough, despite how gently he drags his thumb along my cheekbone. We stare at each other, all silent communication.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" He asks, soft, gentle.

The room freezes, not a single breath heard other than my and Clay's own.

I turn my face into his hand, inhaling. I 'mhm' weakly, dragging my lips across his palm. 

Clay handles me with care, dragging with his thumb, pressing it into a tender spot next to my lip.  
I flinch away from it. Pain flashes across his face, like he felt it himself. 

"Who did that?" He asks, just as gentle.

I break our eye contact, turning my eyes up toward the man, staring him down. His pupils are blown, a panicked expression warping his face as he looks at me and my alpha. 

Clay turns, following my line of site to the man before turning back and meeting my eyes.

"He did this? All of it?" Clay asks. I nod against his hand. He nods back. 

"Okay." He says, it's simple, but it's said with a severity that makes my stomach drop.

He's terrifying like this.

He lifts to standing, slowly, staring the man down as he runs his fingers along where his shirt is rolled up his arms, making sure it's secured. 

"I'm— I didn't—" The man starts, panicked, taking multiple steps back.

He walks directly into Nick, who's standing at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed, blocking the only exit. Clay steps toward him until he's directly in front of him, staring him down.

The man appears to cower, looking small, powerless, between Clay and Nick, despite the way he looked before. He looks panicked, eyes darting around to the other people who were listening to him moments earlier. They all look just as scared, mumbling amongst themselves, staring at my alpha with a reverence I don't understand. 

"You have ten seconds to explain why my omega is tied up on the floor. Make it count." Clay says, simple.

The man stutters for a moment, fish mouthing, before he spits out words. 

"She— she was— the— the boy is— the boy left me without a word and she— was with him— I didn't mean to hurt her but she— she bit me and wouldn't— listen to me and—" 

"That's ten." Clay says, and his mouth snaps shut. 

He rolls his shoulders back, jaw ticking. "So you're having a lover's quarrel and just— happened to kidnap and torture my omega?" 

"Yes!" The man nearly yelps, something like hope in his expression. "Yes— I—I never meant to hurt her— I didn't even know she was yours— there's no scent— I—" 

His face falls as Clay turns, looking down at me one more time. He steps away from the man, carefully undoing the clasp of his watch and slipping it into his pocket. He lifts his hand back out of his pocket holding brass knuckles that he calmly slips on.

The man whimpers, cowering away from him. 

"Please— please— please— Dream, listen, it's— it was a mistake—" He begs, crocodile tears forming in his eyes, stumbling away.

Clay flicks his eyes toward Nick. 

"She doesn't need to see this." He says.

Nick nods, then steps around them, walking straight for me. The man looks like he might try to run, but one of the armed guards that was previously on his side moves into position, blocking the stairway. 

Nick drops to a crouch in front of me, acting like a human blockade in my vision, giving me a comforting smile. 

"Please— please—" The man starts begging again, the time out of my line of sight.

It's short lived, followed by sick crack that is distinctly the sound of bone being hit hard enough it breaks. I hear shouting, cries of pain, then squeeze my eyes shut despite not seeing anything.

It's hard to listen to, even knowing who it is, and that he deserves it. It sounds... excruciating, cries only lasting until the next brutal hit, refreshing until the hits turns soft, fleshy, the smell of blood sharp in the air.

Until it's silent.

When I finally open my eyes, there's blood splattered across the wall that I can see over Nick's shoulder. He stands, stepping away.

On the ground, limp, beaten to a nearly unrecognizable bloody mess, is the man who was tormenting me. He's taking in labored breaths, barely trembling where he lays, groans and sobs gurgling from his blood-filled throat.

Nausea rises to the base of my throat, a sick feeling washing over me. Though, it's closely followed by a feeling of security, pride.

Clay did that, and he did it for me.

I look up to him, finding he's watching me with a severe look, blood splattered across his shirt and face. He takes the brass knuckles off, slipping them back into his pocket. Calmly, he lifts and clasps his watch, unrolls his sleeves, pins his cufflinks back on, then redresses with his suit jacket.

I struggle, but manage to lift myself up to standing, even with my hands tied behind my back. I wince as I try to walk, crying out in pain from the beating I took.

Clay shoots forward, wrapping an arm around my waist, steadying me. He carefully undoes the bindings on my wrists, signalling Nick to do the same for my friends. Once my hands are free, I lift them to his chest, twisting them in the fabric of his jacket, burying my face into him to take an extended inhale.

The pheromones melt the pain and fear that wrack my body, until I'm lax in Clay's hands, soft, pliant, safe.

"I'm sorry." I barely whisper, and his hands go impossibly tighter where they cradle me. 

"Can you do clean up?" Clay asks out, voice rumbled. "Make sure her friends get home safe." 

I turn from his chest, pressing against it with my cheek, trying to mark futilely, watching as Nick responds with a nod, pulling a gun from his waist and walking over to the barely-alive man.

Clay adjusts his hands on me until he can lift, swinging me into a princess carry. I blink at him, feeling the lift of our bodies as he carries me up the stairs. 

The second we're out of the room, I hear the crack of a single gunshot, sharp enough I wince. I bury my face into Clay's neck at his shoulder, hiding myself there, just breathing as he walks with me.

We stay silent, both collecting ourselves, holding tight, until we get to Clay's car. There, he drops me to standing, hovering his hands against me like I'm glass. He opens the door to his car and guides me inside. I hesitate to let go of him, whining as he tries to step away. It's stupid, but I feel like if he goes, I'll lose him forever. 

"I'm right here sweetheart. Just give me one second." He mumbles, prying my fingers out of his shirt so he can step back and close me into his car.

I take labored breaths apart from him, whimpering and collapsing in on myself. I slowly start to process what's happened today, and feel... guilty, scared, small.

The driver's side door opens and Clay hops inside. He's immediately in my space, swinging an arm across me, burying his face in my neck now that we have some privacy.

I tilt my chin back, exposing my throat to accept his demands.

Clay inhales, pressing in closer.

"I'm sorry—" I repeat, whined. 

"It's okay." Clay's voice is gentle, unreadable.

He wraps his arm around my waist, holding me in place as he burrows in my neck. I hold him back just as tight.

"It's not. It's not okay." I whimper out. "You told me, and I didn't listen and you were right. It's not okay—" As I speak, I start to spiral.

"It's okay sweetheart. Just breathe." He mumbles.

I whimper, petulance and insecurity burning in my stomach. I hate this, this— feeling that I'm a useless fucking dumbasss, that Clay is unaffected by my shit choices. He just killed someone to protect me and he's the one trying to calm me down? 

I push his shoulders with my hands, fighting to get away from him, despite the way he holds on tighter.

I cry out, hitting with my palms.

"Let go of me— let go—" I repeat, begging, feeling undeserving. 

"It's okay. I've got you." Clay repeats back, holding me in place against him, letting me hit to my heart's content. 

I hit his shoulders that stay firm and solid against my palms, held in place as he cradles me through it. I beat against him, sobs wracking my body, until I eventually go limp, holding onto him again and turning my face back into his neck. 

"I hate this." I finally whine out.

Clay wraps me tighter, soothing his palms down my back.

"Hate what?" He asks, gentle.

I tilt my head back so he has more space to press into. 

"This. You. You were right— and I fucked up and you're— comforting me and— you're not even angry and—" I whine around my words.

Clay hums. "I am angry. But it's okay."

"Then show it." I bite back.

Clay finally lets me go, pulling away from me, staring me down, searching my face.

"That's not what you need right now." He says, just as quiet as before.

How is he being so fucking gentle with me? I twist my hand in his shirt, a desperate cry building. 

"You don't fucking know what I need right now. Please. Just be fucking angry with me. I deserve— I can't take— how good you are I—" I start to cry again, words cut in my throat as I tilt my head down and whimper. 

I really am useless and pathetic.

Clay reaches forward, a single hand tenderly cupping my chin. He tilts my head back up, caressing the length of my cheekbone with his thumb. He looks at me with complete tenderness and surrender. 

"Do you want me to be angry?" He asks.

I sniffle, nodding against his hand. "If you're angry I can— apologize— feel better— but if you're gentle with me I'm just going to keep— feeling undeserving." I say, whimpered. "I know I fucked up. Punish me for it." 

Clay stares at me for a moment, before he nods, face setting. He continues to stroke the length of my cheek, just as soft.

"I told you..." He starts, brushing his thumb along my cheek, carefully wiping my tears. The stroke of his thumb slowly gets more demanding, his hand shifting until it drops, curling around my throat. He brushes with his thumb there. "You weren't allowed to leave."

His hand holds my neck, keeping my head in place. 

"Didn't I?"

I whimper, meeting his eyes, finding a measured control and anger I'm unfamiliar with burning there. 

I nod.

His grip goes tight around my neck, tight enough my hands dart up. I dig into his wrist with my nails.

"You disobeyed me." He says, voice deep with cold neutrality. 

His hand gets even tighter, a fuzz seeping into my brain as the oxygen he's depriving me of takes an effect. My hands scramble against his wrist, my head tilting back to expose my throat in submission, panic flaring in my chest as I fight to breathe.

It's all I can think about, all I can remember. Him, his hand around my throat. It starts to erase the events of the day, his fingertips digging into the sides of my neck, his palm firm against my throat.

Clay's eyes flick down my face, tension in his expression. 

"I hate looking at you... marked like this. Knowing those bruises aren't mine." He says, then releases my throat.

I draw in a sharp gasp, body slack as Clay allows me to melt back into my seat. 

His hand is gentle again, thumb caressing along my cheek. He presses the corner of my lips, digging his thumb into a bruise hard enough I flinch. 

"You don't even fucking smell right." He growls out.

I whine. "I'm— I'm sorry—" I start, but he pulls away from me completely, leaning back in his own seat. 

He starts the car. 

The few inches of space between us now feel like a chasm. Looking up at his face, seeing how coldly neutral it remains, I'm on edge, fear warping in my stomach.

We take the drive home in complete silence, tension heavy in the air between us. Unspoken words sit like weights at the base of my throat. I stay silent, a slight tremble in my body, only coming to once there's a noise. It's the car shutting off.

I startle, and realize we're already home.

Clay stays in place, his hands in his lap, twitching to move. 

I focus on pushing pheromones of comfort, calm, feeling how tense he is in the seat next to me.

He turns toward me. 

"Last chance to let me be nice." He says, with measured restraint.

I shake my head no before I realize I am. Clay stares me down, waiting. 

"Ask for it." He demands. 

"I need you to be rough with me. Please." I beg, quiet.

This time Clay nods, blowing a tense sigh, staring at me for only a moment longer before he opens the door to his car and climbs out. I stay frozen in my seat, scared for what I just signed up for, despite the fact that I need it.

I startle when my door opens for me, and Clay appears, reaching in to unbuckle my seatbelt. His hands land on me, rough, demanding, pulling me from his car. I stumble as I get to my feet, leaning against him for support. His arm snakes around my waist, keeping me propped up as he guides me inside. 

Clay walks me to a couch. Instead of tossing me down like I expect, he squeezes my waist, firm, gently lowering me to sit. 

"Wait right here." He says, quiet, controlled, waiting for me to nod before he walks away. 

I look at the couch, seeing the pillow I gave to Nick is exactly where I left it. This morning seems like a different life.

Clay returns after a moment, with a collar in his hand. My chin tilts back, wordlessly accepting it. To my surprise, he sets it on the coffee table instead of putting it on. He sits nexts to me, leaning into my space. I keep my head tilted back as he presses in, landing his mouth on the tendon of my neck.

He scrapes against it with his teeth, letting out a soft sigh before his arm wraps around me, hand landing on my waist to to hold tight. He rubs with his thumb, soothing me.

Clay's scent is overpowering as he presses into my neck, brushing up the length with his lips. He darts his tongue out to taste. It's scalding hot where it connects with my skin, soft in contrast to the rough scrape of his teeth and facial hair. 

He kisses the full length of my neck to the bottom of my jaw, nipping there once. I melt into it, fighting to keep my eyes open, losing thought as I drown in his scent. He presses another kiss to my jaw before traveling higher, nipping at my earlobe.

I shiver as Clay presses closer, ghosting warm breath against my ear. He holds for a moment before he speaks.

"Strip." 

It's a command, despite how gently it's spoken. 

I nod, feeling numb, lifting to my feet.

Clay leans back into the couch, settling further in, studying me. I try to move efficiently, despite barely feeling present, melting into his pheromone control. I start by shedding the necklace, ring, and watch, then slip the cardigan off, laying them on the table. Finally, I grab the bottom of my dress. 

I meet Clay's eyes as I lift it up and off, letting it fall to the floor. 

Clay's eyes flick up and down my figure now that I'm mostly undressed. I lift my arms behind me, unhooking my bra and slipping it down my arms. My breasts fall free, exposed.

Clay's eyes stay locked to them, his hands twitching, itching to grab, where they rest in his lap. 

I land my hand on the waistband of my panties and briefly pause, looking up at him. His jaw ticks, impatient, his hands clenching and unclenching where they rest. 

I push my panties down my thighs, and watch as Clay starts to feel the same effects I'm feeling, his hands rubbing against his legs in a soothing motion. There's a heavy pheromone fog in the air, intoxicating, scent rolling off of both of us like another form of touch as he fucks me with his eyes.

We both need this.

"Come here." Clay finally cuts through the silence.

His tone of voice sends a shiver through my body that almost drops me to my knees. I manage to move, leaning over to snag the collar before approaching him. 

He leans forward, landing his hands on me, immediately rough and demanding. He jerks me into his still fully clothed lap, forcibly spreading my legs and adjusting me until I'm straddling one of his thighs. He tugs my hips, sitting me down on it. I can't help that I roll against him, giving myself enough friction a moan slips. He lifts his leg in response, pressuring between my legs with his thigh.

I nearly whine, eyes fluttering from the movement. I don't get to buck into it before Clay settles under me again. I lift the collar, holding it in front of me like an offering. He glances down at it, both of his hands planted firm on my hips, then pulls into a cocky grin.

"Hold on to that for just a little longer." He says, leaning forward.

One of his hands quickly lifts, brushing the hair from my neck to expose it for him to press in. He lands his mouth right back on my neck, much more demanding than before. He presses an open mouthed kiss, sloppy, that turns into him sinking in with his teeth and tightening with his mouth, sucking to bruise.

I whimper, darting my hands up to wrap around his shoulders and hold on tight as his mouth takes on a punishing force, leaving a massive claim on the side of my neck. He disconnects with a wet pop, leaning back into his own space to admire his handiwork, pleased. 

I look back at him, eyes barely open, hips tilting forward to roll against his thigh in a slow intentional rhythm. There's an ache, low in my stomach, the burning desire to get fucked, filled, and made into his bitch. 

Clay tilts his head and lifts to grab the collar from my hands. My eyes flutter as I feel cool leather press against the skin of my neck. He collars me, carefully, leaving it just tight enough. His eyes haven't left the bruise he left on my neck, but they finally move once I'm collared, flicking down the entirety of my body. 

He lifts a hand, grazing his fingers along my skin, following them with his line of sight. He moves, intentional, pausing where I have bruises from earlier, hesitant when he passes over them. 

Clay looks up at me, expression severe. 

"I can't fucking stand looking at those. Knowing someone hurt you, touched you." He takes an extended inhale. 

"I need to fix it." Is all he says before he leans in, doubled over, planting his mouth on bruise that blooms on my abdomen.

He presses a single feather light kiss before he drags his tongue across the skin. He scrapes with his teeth like a warning, then bites, tightening his mouth.

It's harsh enough I cry out, feeling the already tender flesh get reworked and bruised over, digging my fingers into his shoulders. Clay tightens his grip and his mouth, biting down with nearly punishing force. When he finally pulls back, I can see the indents of his teeth pressed into my skin, blooming new bruises of their own.

Clay takes a ragged breath, then dives back in.

He does to the same to my thigh, my hip, my arm, anywhere he finds a bruise. He lands his mouth, covering over every mark with his own, until I'm whimpering, writhing against his thigh, both hands fixed tight in his hair.

I'm dripping slick, mixing into the saliva he's left, ache nearly painful where it ebbs in my stomach. I'm not above begging. 

"Breed me, please." I whimper, pressing sloppy desperate kisses along Clay's jaw as he lands his hands back on my hips, loosely holding. 

I roll against him in a rhythm, gripping on air, needing him locked inside of me. I paw at his suit jacket, listening as he huffs, allowing me to get it all the way off. 

Once it's off I lean in, clumsily mashing our lips together, desperate for a taste of him. He smiles against my mouth, tightening his hands where they rest, cradling me as I arch to press our bodies flush.

I frantically pull his tie off, managing to unbutton his entire vest and the first few buttons of his shirt before he pulls back.

"Sweetheart—" Is all he manages to mumble, running a single hand up my back, before I press back in, connecting our mouths. 

I don't bother to return to the shirt, instead, I go directly down, pressing against his cock with my palm, heavy where it sits in his pants. He finally lets a moan slip, tilting his hips into the motion. I fumble with the button, just landing my fingers on his zipper before his hand hooks into my hair, pulling me back, off his mouth and away from him.

I whine, reaching forward, grinding down against Clay's thigh, desperate for more.

"God, you're distracting." He says, eyes flicking down my face, catching on the pout of my lips, panted breaths clear in the rise and fall of his chest. "But you don't deserve to be fucked, yet."

His hand leaves my hair, circling my face until his thumb can press to my lips. I immediately open my mouth to accept, pushing my tongue out so I can play with the digit. I lift both hands back to his shoulders, pressing our bodies as close as I can.

Clay hums, pushing his thumb into my mouth as I wrap my lips around it. There's a pleased rumble low in his chest while he watches me. 

"Such a good little fucking whore for me." He says. quiet, just loud enough I can hear it. "Look at you, begging for my cock. I bet you're aching for it." 

I whine, nodding with his thumb in my mouth, scrambling to get closer to him. It's enough that he breaks, dropping his hand from my face back to my hip, holding on tight. Without thinking, I lean back in, hands frantic as I paw at his pants, trying to get his cock out.

This time, Clay's quick, hands snapping forward to grab both of my arms at the wrists, jerking them behind my back and collecting them in a single hand. I whine, continuing to fight it, rolling against him in jerky, loose, motions. 

"Please, alpha—" Slips from my mouth before I can stop it.

Clay's expression briefly melts, the power of the statement appealing to his every instinct before he manages to collect himself, shaking his head. 

"Whiny little thing." He mumbles, leaning the side to collect his tie as I continue to move, desperate to have his cock inside of me. 

Clay's hand holding the tie wraps my waist, jerking me forward until he can hook his chin over my shoulder, staring down my back. He's quick, meticulous, wrapping the tie around my wrists, restraining them behind me. 

I flex my hands in their new restraints, finding them still sore from being tied up earlier. I must make a noise, because Clay turns in, pressing a contrastingly tender kiss to to my cheek. 

"Is this okay?" He asks, completely removed from the scene, voice gentle and quiet.

It's exactly what I need, the panic I didn't realize was building in my chest immediately settling. 

I nod, whimpering, fighting the bindings, desperate to have my hands on him. 

"I'm going to use my alpha voice, okay? You remember the word to make it stop?" He asks, just as gentle, slow. 

I take a moment to think, remembering the safe word before I nod. 

Clay leans back from me, then speaks.

"Stop." He demands. My body freezes, unable to fight to touch him anymore.

As he melts into a smile, I whine.

"Good girl." Clay praises and my stomach tightens, chin tilting back to expose my neck.

"Such a good girl." Clay continues to praise, having to take a steadying breath, eyes flicking down my body one more time.

"I'd love to split you on my cock." He mumbles, leaning back in. "It's too bad I need to punish you." As soon as he finishes speaking, he wraps me into a tight hold. 

Clay lifts to standing with me in his arms. I wrap my legs around him, mewling and scrambling to hold on, pressing our bodies together in consequence. As he strides forward, I moan with each step, completely gone, losing myself in the simple way our bodies collide from the movement.

Clay carries me to our bedroom, throwing me down into bed. I fully cry out when he doesn't immediately follow me down. Instead, he stands to the side, watching me. I feel the rapid rise and fall of my stomach, knowing my pupils are blown as I look back, arching my body and jerking my wrists where they're pinned beneath me. 

"What to do with you?" Clay asks, eyes flicking down my body as I lay prone.

I tilt my neck back to present, appeal to him, trying to tempt him in. His eyes lock to it, to the exposed line of my throat, a pleased noise escaping him. 

"Spread your legs." He demands.

My thighs part, knees lifting to make even more room, spreading open and exposing everything. Clay's nostrils flare, the sweet smell of slick rolling from between my legs heavy enough that I smell it too. 

I see something flicker across his face, like a wavering resolve, knowing he's thinking about folding me in half and fucking me now. But, it's not enough. His face sets again, control returning, and he takes a step back. He turns, leaving me laid prone to go into the closet. He takes a moment, but returns from the closet holding a suitcase he drops at the foot of the bed.

I whine at that, wanting to curl into myself.

Usually the suitcase is only brought out during heats, when I'm insatiable, begging Clay to stay home and spend the day fucking me. 

"Please— fuck me—" I beg out, but it's ignored as Clay unzips and opens the suitcase. 

His expression is relaxed as he reaches in, pulling just three items. 

The first: rope.

The second: a vibrator.

The third: a plastic cock.

My feet curl, legs pressing shut as Clay looks up at me with a stare that seems too-relaxed given the situation. He immediately notices my new position, eyes flicking to my closed legs. 

He lifts his brows, laying the items he's picked to the bed before closing the suitcase and returning it to where it was. Once he turns to me again, he silently approaches, landing a massive warm hand on my thigh. He pets with his thumb. I want to press into it, staring up and meeting his eyes. Suddenly, his hand grips hard enough to bruise.

Staring me in the eyes, he speaks. 

"I don't remember giving you permission to close your legs." He says it gently, contrasting the way he grips even harder, and rips my legs apart.

I whine, stomach going tight as he forces me back on display.

Clay hums, under his breath, pleased to push the limits of his control. He slides his hand up my thigh, closing in between my legs. I take a sharp inhale as I feel his fingertips brush against my pussy, eyes threatening to shut. I look down, watching and feeling as he spreads my pussy, then presses in with two fingers, sliding through, collecting slick.

A moan passes my throat, just loud enough he hears it. 

Clay grins, circling my entrance, teasing it with his fingertips. "So fucking wet, just from my mouth on you—" He says.

My knees lift further, trying to display, get him to snap. He obliges, pressing his fingers forward, pushing both just past my entrance and inside of me. I feel my stomach go tight, muscles clenching and pulsing as he stretches me open with his fingers. He pauses once he's inside, curling his fingers up, applying a gentle pressure as he pets my insides.

I moan, quiet. "More—" I breathe out.

Clay immediately pulls back out, despite my demands. He brushes his fingers along my thigh as he retracts his hand. I whine, lifting my hips, begging for more.

Clay shakes his head. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you." He mumbles. 

The words send piercing heat to my stomach like a shock. I know he will. He always does.

He reaches at the foot of the bed where he left the items he picked from the suitcase, lifting them. Without warning, he leans forward, plastic cock in hand. He spreads my pussy, then presses the head of the cock directly to my clit, dragging it through my slick.

I buck my hips into the pressure, impatient.

Clay leans in, planting his hand low on my stomach to still me, lining the cock up to my entrance. I gasp as he starts to push in, slow, filling me with the fake cock. Though the stretch feels good, it's not enough. 

It's not him.

I whine in protest, squirming against the mattress as he pushes the entire length of the cock inside of me before retracts his hands back to the rest of what he set out. He leans back toward me, running the rope through his fingers, holding the vibrator. 

Clay takes the head of the wand vibrator and presses it directly to my clit, adjusting as I rock down on it, giving myself more pressure. Once he has it where he wants it, he grabs the rope, cupping the back of my thigh to lift my leg. He loops my thighs with the rope, tying the vibrator and cock in place. Done, he leans back, holding his hand on my thigh, flicking his eyes down my body.

"Clay—" I get out, before he moves his hand, turning the vibrator on.

I moan, shifting my hips, legs lifting as it starts. Despite the fact that it's not him, the stimulation still feels good. 

Clay's hand lands back on my face, carefully cupping my cheek. I turn into it, surrendering a single kiss to his wrist, resting my lips against his skin and looking up at him. His expression is calm, collected, his eyes briefly flicking down to watch my hips lift, then landing back on my face. 

"You're such a pretty girl." He says, then pauses. "But you're prettier when you cry." As he finishes, he clicks the vibrator, turning it higher.

My entire body arches, the stimulation overwhelming as I cry out, legs and hips jerking, trying to get away from it. Clay retracts into his own space, watching, pleased, before turning and walking away.

I make noises of frustration and want, needing him to turn back and touch me. It's ignored. He walks out of the room.

Alone, I whine, desperately rolling as much pheromone into the air as I can, panic building. I need him back. I need him here. Why the fuck did he just walk out?

I fucking need him.

I swallow, body arching off the mattress as my hands fight behind my back and my legs kick out from the stimulation of the vibrator, strong between my legs. Heat and arousal sit low in my abdomen, aching like a threat, forcing me to the milk the plastic cock inside of me. It's not going to take me long to cum like this.

I don't want to cum alone—

I whine again, rolling to my side and curling my body. I consider, briefly, standing up and stumbling to follow Clay out. Before I can try, he walks right back in holding a bottle of liquor and a glass.

Clay's eyes land low, between my legs, then track up the length of my body. There's a tremble starting in my core. I scent the air now that he's returned, smelling how thick his pheromone rolls off of him. Something in it settles the panic that was blooming.

He's going to take care of me.

I flutter my eyes, another whined moan passing my lips as Clay approaches me. There's a flare of want, desperation for his hands on me melting my conscious. I'm disappointed when he reaches to his side, grabbing and flipping a chair from his desk. He sits, facing me, watching me.

I mewl around my moans, gone, entire body shaking as the vibrator forces me toward an orgasm. 

"Please—" I beg, just wanting Clay to hold me through it.

As soon as he hears it, he smirks.

He actually fucking smirks. 

Staring me down, Clay leans back in the chair, lifting his hips. My eyes track the movement, seeing his cock is hard, the fabric of his pants showing a clear definition of it where the fabric is stretched taut. He lifts the liquor second, uncapping the bottle with practiced ease before filling his glass. He places the open bottle behind him on his desk, and... relaxes, watching me like I'm a show.

I whimper, lifting toward him, then jerk into my first orgasm.

My entire body arches, my pussy throbbing where the vibrator is pressed to my clit. The euphoria is short lived, quickly shifting into overstimulation. I cry out, desperately trying to jerk my hips away from the the vibrator, everything feeling hyper-sensitive.

Clay watches it all with a smile, relaxed.

"Please, Clay, please—" I beg out, fighting the restraints behind my back.

He doesn't react. Instead, he lifts his glass, taking a short swig. He pulls the glass from his mouth, fixing it with a considering stare. 

"Tastes good." He says. 

I whine, insistent, arching my entire body toward Clay as my legs pull tight, the vibrator relentless between my legs. He turns his gaze back up to me. 

"Something you want?" He asks, calm, staring me down.

I tilt my head back, giving another fiery jerk to the bindings at my back. I get nowhere. The stimulation between my legs fades from overstimulation, back into building pleasure. Meeting Clay's eyes, I roll my hips against it, trying to ride the plastic cock filling me, desperate for him. 

"Please, alpha—" I beg again. "I— I need— I— ah—" I jerk my head back, body pulling tight enough to hurt as I'm forced into a second orgasm. 

My mouth opens and stays open, a shout caught in my throat. I barely keep my eyes open to blink at Clay, panting and writhing to get away from the stimulation. I lift my hips from my mattress, thighs closed tight, body desperately jerking. 

It's so fucking much— I— can't—

"Please—" I beg again, tilting my chin toward Clay. 

He leans in as he stares back, a thinly maintained control keeping him in place. He takes another drink, slow, before lifting to rub his throat and continue watching as I jerk across the mattress.

"Did you want a drink?" He asks.

I nod, desperate for anything that will get him closer, get his attention on me.

Clay nods back, lifting to standing. He walks over, close, hovering at the side of the bed. He reaches one hand forward, landing it on my head and petting my hair. I lean into it, into him, moving my body forward until I can press my face into his lap, nuzzling against his tented cock.

His scent is thicker here, overwhelming, melting my fucking brain as I blink up at him, lifting my hips despite my trembling core. The vibrator continues, regardless, forcing me back to pleasure. 

Clay continues to pet as he lifts his glass, taking a drink that leaves it empty. He lowers the glass, briefly looking at it, all without swallowing. His hand slowly drags down until he's cupping my cheek, his thumb brushing against my lower lip. I open my mouth to accept the digit. He moves quickly, pressing the thumb I've allowed entrance past my lips to rest it against my teeth and open my mouth further. 

I look up at Clay, barely having a chance to process what's going on, before he doubles over, hovering his face right next to mine. I try to lean into it, fighting to press my lips to his despite his thumb being in the way, to no success. Carefully, he keeps my lips parted, then spits liquor from his mouth to my own. 

I blink at him, surprised, but quickly swallow around his thumb. My noises catch in my throat as the burn of the liquor blooms, following down into my stomach.

"Good girl." Clay praises, releasing my face and dragging his hand down to my chest.

He touches with just his finger tips, tracing them along the length of my body as my muscles tense and react to him. He reaches the vibrator, and a preemptive relief floods my system. 

My eyes flutter in pleasure, pussy gripping on nothing as Clay lands on the vibrator and presses his fingers into it.

No relief comes.

I shout, legs pulling tight as the vibrator clicks to an even higher setting, completely overwhelming me.

"Please— Clay— I—" I take a labored breath, pausing only to whine as my entire body jerks with the sensation. I look up at him, pleading. "Alpha. I can't— I— I'm done— please just—" 

Before I can finish, Clay lands his hand on my jaw, squeezing my face in his grip. 

"You're done when I say you're done." 

Clay drops my face, taking a step back. My body chases, whines high in my throat as I lean to follow him. He goes back to the chair he pulled out, sitting down in the same position, watching me.

"Please—" I beg out to no avail, body shaking as my muscles hold tight. 

I turn to meet his eyes, desperate whimpers low in my throat. 

"I-it's—" I gasp out, right as my body jerks, crashing into another orgasm.

It's starting to hurt, the ache in my stomach insatiable, pussy desperate for Clay's knot inside of me, not stated by the fake dick, plus the over-stimulation to my clit.

I can't do this anymore.

I tense my body, still rocking through my orgasm, and fight to swing to my feet. I stand, trembling, and take a few steps toward Clay on unsteady legs. He leans forward, watching me with interest. 

I stumble toward him, until my hips jerk and I buckle, dropping to my knees. I crawl toward Clay. I force my way into his space as he stays stock still. I bury my face in his lap, kneeling in front of him, whines mixed with moans streaming out of me like a constant.

"Please, alpha, please—" I continue to beg, entire body shaking, pussy pulsing to milk the plastic keeping it stretched.

I need him.

I feel tears prick the corners of my eyes as I blearily blink up at Clay. He notices them, leaning forward, lifting a hand to thumb a tear from my cheek, looking down at me.

"There she is—" He starts, eyes flicking across my face to watch me cry. "Does it hurt, sweetheart?" He asks.

I whine in response, nodding, desperate for him to turn it off.

Clay huffs a laugh. 

"That's too bad." He says, then lifts his hands off of me again despite the way I chase, desperate for them to stay. 

Clay brings his hand to his wrist, and slowly undoes the cufflink there, meeting my eyes as he folds the sleeve, rolling it up his arm. Before he can reach for the other sleeve, I lean up, catching the second cufflink with my teeth. He watches, the corner of his mouth quirking as I use my teeth to pull the second cufflink off for him, then sit back on my heels.

He extends his hand to my face, pressing his palm to my lips. I spit the cufflink there, pushing forward with my tongue to taste his skin. He pulls that hand back. I plant my now free mouth to his cock, mouthing it over his pants, staring up at him, taking panted breaths, rocking my hips. He calmly collects both cufflinks into one hand, then drops them to the desk behind him.

Silent, watching me between his legs, he rolls his other sleeve up his forearm. 

"Stand up." He demands.

I nod, shaking as I steady myself to stand. Clay helps once I'm up, landing his hands on my hips and drawing me closer between his legs, holding me up as I tremble.

He lands his mouth on my abdomen, dragging his jaw to mark down my stomach, lips brushing along my skin but never kissing. He reaches lower, and the vibrator finally clicks off. 

I nearly collapse, a sigh of relief passing my lips. 

Clay reaches into his pocket, pulling a knife. I'm not present enough to care as he flips the blade out, cutting through the rope that fixes the vibrator in place. He lifts a hand to my thigh, finally pulling the vibrator away from my pussy. He drops it, then grips the the base of the plastic cock, pulling it from me. It's followed by a wave slick that cascades down my thighs, dripping from my numb pussy. 

Clay's lips part, his nostrils flaring so he can take a deep breath. He looks up to meet my eyes, expression intoxicated. We meet eachother's gaze for only a moment before his hands tighten on my hips and he tugs me forward, leaning in. 

I moan, high, breathy, as his mouth lands on my thigh. He drags his tongue through the slick that drips there, following it up to my pussy. 

He presses his mouth in like he can't help himself, keeping his hands on me firm as he pushes between my pussy lips, swiping through with his tongue, pointed. I moan again, head tilting back, thighs tensing as he drinks my slick, flicking his tongue between my legs, pleased noises rumbling low in his chest. 

It feels amazing to have his mouth on me, but— I need—

"Please— your cock—" I stutter out, hardly thinking. 

Clay pulls back, staring up at me, dragging his tongue along his lower lip to clean the slick that drips from his mouth down his chin. I whimper. His eyes are dangerous, intense in the way they stay locked to me. 

"You want fucked that bad?" He asks.

I nod, nearly whimpering, fighting against the tie around my wrists, wishing my hands were on him.

Clay's lips twitch, then he stands, quick, wrapping both of his arms around my waist. 

"Needy little fucking omega whore—" He starts, hands finally everywhere all at once, backing me toward the bed as I stumble to keep up up with his movement.

Finally.

I tilt my head back, baring my throat in submission. This time, Clay finally accepts, pressing his face into the bend of my neck and landing his mouth on my skin. He scrapes with his teeth against the tendon at the joint of my shoulder, soothing the motion after with his tongue. His mouth is scalding where it contacts my skin. 

"You want bred, don't you?" Clay asks, teasing, as the backs of my knees hit the bed. I nearly fall into it, but he holds me up steady, supporting me by holding my body flush to his.

I fight to find enough presence of mind to nod, jerking my arms behind my back. 

Clay moves, kissing up the length of my neck, dragging his lips along my jaw and up, nipping at my earlobe.

"You're such a needy little bitch." He mumbles.

I take a sharp breath, whining for it. Clay pulls back, staring me down with a smug look. 

He only holds for a moment before he guides me back, laying me on the bed with my legs cast over the side. He continues to stand over me once I'm laid prone. 

I arch, spreading my legs, lifting my knees, inviting him in. 

Clay stares down at me, and lands his hands at his waist, slowly unbuckling his belt. I watch over the rise and fall of my stomach as he unthreads his belt, dropping it to the floor. He unbuttons and zips slowly, before pushing the waistband of his pants and boxers just far enough down to free his cock. It springs free, hard and flushed with blood, hooked directly up. 

He wraps his hand around the base of his cock, then drags along the length of it, keeping pressure with his thumb. The tip drools, a single bead of precum forming at the slit. He catches it with his thumb, smearing it against his skin. 

I tilt my chin back, lips parted as hit pheromone hits me like a wall. I feel my lips moving, knowing I'm making noise and begging in a way I'm not even present for. 

"What do you want?" Clay asks, hovering above me. 

I mewl through a whine, spreading my thighs further, holding my legs up to present to him, not present enough to form a coherent thought. 

Clay's eyes flick down to view it, his cock twitching where it rests in his palm. He reaches down, landing his free hand on the dip of my waist and holding tight, digging in with his fingers harsh enough to bruise. He holds for a moment, watching me, before he continues to stroke his cock, giving me nothing. 

"Use your big girl words." He says, relaxed, rolling his head back on his shoulders. "And beg for forgiveness. Then I'll fuck you." 

"Please—" I whine out, immediately breaking. "I need you, please. Please— I'm sorry alpha— please—" I beg.

Clay grins, watching me with a relaxed expression. He moves his hand to the base of his cock, gripping it, leaning in to slide the head of his cock against my pussy.

My entire body arches, pleasure flooding my brain as I take a stuttered breath, feeling as he lines himself up at my entrance. I gasp at the stretch, feeling everything as he finally pushes inside of me. My hands jerk against my back, wanting to be on him.

Half-way in, Clay stills, dropping his hand from his cock to cup under my knees and fold my leg back, leaning in, keeping me spread. I blink up at him with the mental capacity I have, mewling my moans, desperate for him to get on top of me and snap his hips. 

He stays back, standing at the edge of the bed. He grips my thigh and my waist, tugging until my ass is off the side of the bed. He shifts his hips, finishing burying the full length of his cock inside of me. Something in me aches, burns for him to move.

"Please—" I beg out one last time, rolling my head back on my shoulders. 

Clay finally listens, pulling his hips back. He doesn't start gentle, tapering up. He immediately snaps his hips, punishing, fucking into me hard enough that I jerk up the sheets, bouncing against his lap with each snap of his hips. I moan out, feeling his cock dragging in and out of me, pressing against the limits of what I can take, unintelligible noises of desperation streaming out of me.

I look up at Clay, eyes barely not rolling back in my head, blinking tears from my eyes as our bodies collide. 

I want him closer. 

I arch toward him, whining, trying to express my need for proximity.

Clay watches, face, neutral, staying upright, hands holding me in place hard enough to bruise.

"Keep fuckin' whining." He says, low, sliding his hand down the back of my thigh. "Verbal little cockslut. Always crying—" I clench, tightening down on his cock, milking him with my pussy.

It's enough for Clay to pause, sucking a sharp breath between his teeth, hips briefly faltering. 

He grunts, then finishes sliding his hand down my thigh, spurring back into motion. He adjusts, keeping his fingers pressed to the back of my thigh, holding my leg up, but pushes forward with his thumb, pressing it into my slick, using it to apply pressure, circling my clit.

I whimper, lifting my hips, bucking into the dual stimulation.

It's impossible to keep my head, a tremble starting in my core that blooms to my thighs. I cry out, body arching and pulling tight, shuddering into an orgasm while split on Clay's cock. 

I blink my eyes open, barely, whimpering as I look up at him, wanting him to come down, hold me tight, knot my pussy and—

Clay drags his tongue along his lower lip, staring at where he's fucking into me, then slowly shifts back, dragging his cock out of me, and pulling his hands off of me. He lands one on his cock again, slowly pumping it. The other lands on my thigh. He uses his thumb to spread me open, locking his eyes to pulsing pussy.

I whine, bucking my hips, clenching on air, singularly focused.

Keeping ahold of his cock, Clay moves his fingers, just barely brushing them against my cum sensitive pussy, dragging them through, collecting slick. 

"You're so messy, covered in your own slick— begging for me— spread open like this—" Clay teases, eyes flicking between my face and his fingers. 

I whine again, eyes flicking down to where his hand pumps his leaking cock.

"Please fuck me—" I beg him, body tight, ache in my stomach sharp enough to hurt. "Please alpha— breed me— please— I—" I breathe out the words, unashamed. 

Clay claps his hand over my mouth, rolling my face in his grip. 

"You don't deserve my knot." He says, low, cold. "You didn't listen to me, didn't let me sleep with you last night." He lowers his lashes, giving me and appraising stare. "I need to remind you who you belong to." He finishes.

I beg against his palm, watching as he continues to stroke his cock.

"Shut the fuck up." He demands. 

My words turn into whines, caught in my throat. 

Clay's lips twitch, a pleased look melting his face. 

"You're such a good girl when you listen to me." He praises, followed by a heavy breath as he ducks his head, continuing to stroke the length of his cock.

My thighs pull tight as I watch. 

His strokes his cock above me in a rhythm, focusing the head, drooling strings of precum, until his hips stutter. He takes another heavy breath, dropping his hand from my face to wrap it around my neck. He tightens his grip there as I gasp, tilting my head back.

Watching my face, eyes half-lidded, he exhales, sharp, his cock jerking in his grip. He streaks cum across my stomach, up my chest, hips twitching to keep fucking his hand. He grunts, immediately dropping his cock to press his fingers into his cum, dragging them through it to rub it into my skin.

My mouth drops open to beg, but he tightens his hand around my neck, choking the words off in my throat. My eyes roll back, ache in my stomach only sharper as the scent of alpha cum floods my senses. 

The euphoria is short, Clay quickly retracting his hands from me, stepping back. He begins to unbutton his shirt, staring me down with an intensity.

I whimper, pussy gripping on air, pushing slick as my gaze stays locked to his still-hard cock. That wasn't enough for either of us. I know his instincts demand he knots me to be sated.

I can see it in how tense his forearms are, the thin control slipping as he unbuttons his shirt. We meet eyes for just a moment, the primal urge to breed heavy between us, before Clay turns and walks out of the room.

I nearly break, body jerking to fight the tie around my wrists, instinct melting my functionality. 

I need knotted. 

By him.

I whine, curling up against the bed, entire body trembling with how tight I'm held, desperation aching in my abdomen. 

Clay stays gone for too long.

I hear the door creak back open, sense he's in the room, and break.

"I'm sorry, please, alpha, I'm so sorry, I need— I— I can't—" I beg out, feeling the sweat and cum coating my body, feeling used and useless, knowing I'm a trembling fucking mess. 

There are hands on me, immediate, pulling my legs apart to put me on display. I blink up at Clay, seeing he's nude now, his face flushed red, his expression just as desperate as mine. He wastes no time, lining his cock up and pushing it back inside. 

He doesn't hold back, burying himself as deep as he can get, coming down on top of me to press his face into my neck.

"I know sweetheart. I know." Clay says. His hand lifts to my neck, fumbling to undo the collar, pulling it off of me and dropping it to the floor, until it's just me and him.

This time his voice is soft, his breath warm where it ghosts against my skin. I turn my face into him, trembling, grounded only by the sweet smell of saltwater that keeps me present, heavy in his hair. 

"I'm gonna take care of you now, okay?" He asks, gentle.

I nod with what presence I have, feeling as Clay's arm wraps around my waist, holding tight, lifting me from the mattress. His other arm jams under me, fingers working to undo the tie that restrains my wrists. 

I feel the bindings loosen, and sigh in relief. I move quick, lifting my numb arms to wrap around Clay's back, landing my hands on his shoulders and digging in with my fingers, clinging onto him.

Still pressed in my neck, he wraps my waist tight, lifting me up, until he's standing with me in his arms. I wrap my legs around his waist, latching on, keeping myself steady, keeping his cock locked inside. 

I feel his cock move inside of me as he walks, keeping us pressed flush. I scrape my nails down his back, arching to press our bodies together as we move across the hall, and into the main bathroom.

Clay carefully opens the door, carrying me in. I note, as we enter, the bath is already drawn, moisture heavy in the air as the water runs. He lifts, stepping into the bath, then carefully lowers both of us in, sitting with his back to the wall, me in his lap. 

I melt as I sink into the scalding water, feeling the tension and ache in my body melt. The calm is short lived, Clay's arms tightening to hold me in place, lifting me from his lap as he snaps his hips up into me, displacing water.

I steady myself, digging into Clay's shoulders hard enough to draw blood. It pulls a moan from him, guttural, breathy, desperate.

He momentarily loses the rhythm of his hips, pausing while buried inside of me, rocking himself up against me. I feel his cock twitch, and know he won't be long. I go as tight as I can, gripping him with my insides. He whines where he's pressed his face into my neck, his mouth open against my skin, taking panted breaths.

"Please—" I beg again, voice hoarse, desperation overtaking.

Clays whimpers, pressing his open mouth forward to bite the tendon of my neck and hold tight. He moves his hips again, dragging his cock in and out of me with a desperate uneven rhythm, chasing. Each thrust in brings a new stretch, the growing knot at the base of his cock promising satisfaction for both of us catching on my entrance.

I hold tight, bouncing against Clay, helpless as he takes, until he thrusts, hard enough I lift from the water from the force. He stills inside of me, rocking into me for just a moment. When he tries to pull back this time, he doesn't get far, his knot locking him inside. 

I tremble in his arms, mustering enough strength to roll my hips, riding his knot as it expands further, stretching my pussy where it sits inside of me. 

Clay lets out a drawn out moan, low, his cock jerking inside of me, flooding my stomach with warmth, his hips lifting further. His hands rub rapid soothing motions against my waist, to my hips, one shifting between us to slide his fingers against my pussy, dragging through the slick mixed with water, touch exploratory as he feels where I'm stretched on his pulsing cock, getting bred. 

My eyes roll back in my head, my hips rocking down again, feeling as his fingers graze against my clit.

The ache in my stomach is replaced by rolling warmth and pleasure. I shudder into my final orgasm, slow, lax, soft panted moans escaping my lips. I rock against Clay, hearing him moan the same, and finally feel sated, safe. 

Clay pulls back from my neck, sloppily mouthing at my jaw, small noises escaping him as he presses a kiss to the corner of my lips. I turn into it, meeting his mouth with mine for a communicative kiss. As our lips connect, I keep mine soft, allowing him to attack, desperately moving our mouths together, forcing his tongue into my mouth, sliding against my own.

The kiss slows from a desperate claim into tenderness, until Clay pulls back, bumping his forehead to mine as we share breath, unspoken words heavy the air, both of us coming down from the high. 

I break the silence.

"I'm so sorry— I was so scared and—" 

Clay interrupts me with a kiss, feather soft, attaching his lips to mine with a tenderness I don't feel like I deserve.

"It's okay." He mumbles, then presses another kiss. 

"It's not—" I whine, vulnerable. "You— you had to—" 

I blink tears from my eyes, remembering the blood, his expression.

He interrupts with another feather soft kiss. It's silent for a moment, the room filled only by our breath. 

"I don't mind killing anyone that hurts you. It's okay." He finally mumbles.

I curl my hands against his shoulders, holding tight, finally feeling safe enough in his arms to process what happened to me. My mind races.

"Who was that?" Spills from my mouth first, remembering the way my kidnapper seemed to recognize Clay. "Why did he know you—" 

"He was a colleague." Clay responds, quiet. 

My stomach goes tight, brain caught on the was. 

I must make a noise, because Clay makes one back, dragging his hands up my back in soothing motions, sinking us further into the bath, holding tight.

I fight it, leaning back until I can look at him, see his face.

He looks cum high, face flushed red, bitten lips parted to breathe, eyes half lidded as he watches me, sincere softness and tenderness obvious in his expression. I'm sure I look— the same. 

"What do you do?" I ask, quiet, watching as his expression sets and he swallows.

"I don't want to be in the dark anymore. Tell me." I demand.

Clay takes a measured breath, eyes flicking down as he takes a moment, choosing his words. When he speaks, it's careful, tentative. 

"I work in... organized crime. I'm the..." He pauses, taking a shuddered breath. "Guy in charge, I guess." 

I blink at him, processing. 

"Are— you a fucking mob boss?" I ask, point blank.

He grimaces, looking up to barely meet my eyes. 

"Something like that." He says.

I open my mouth to press further, dig in. But, seeing the hesitation on his face, I pause. I decide to leave it be for now.

"How did you even— how did you find me? Where was I?" I ask.

Clay looks up at me, something like hope warping his expression as he sees that I'm not upset.

"You were in one of my safe houses— I thought— I thought you had found out and— I didn't realize it was—" He pauses to swallow. "That you were in trouble until I saw you... there..." His hands tighten on me, tension stringing his body, like he can't stand the thought. 

"Was is just luck, then? That you found me?" 

He shakes his head no.

"GPS in the watch." He admits, chewing his cheek, looking nervous. "Also both phones." 

I can't help the laugh that slips, warmth and affection blooming in my chest. 

"Of course there is." I mumble, quiet, rolling my eyes. 

Clay looks up at me, cautious, face neutral. I blink back, staring for only a second, before I lean in, pressing my lips to his lips feather soft. Before he can react, I shift, kissing across his lips, down his jaw, to his neck.

I know I'm covered in bruises left by him, so I need to return the favor. I plant my mouth on his neck, sinking in with my teeth, feeling him shudder in my arms, pushing soothing pheromone. I tighten my mouth, sucking an obvious bruise on the side of his neck. I pull back, proud, looking at the red patch that I know will bloom purple for days, proud of the mark.

I look back up at Clay, feeling soft, the events of day settling as I relax in his arms. 

"Thank you for protecting me, alpha." I say, letting my voice go soft, leaning in to press another kiss to the corner of his lips.

He makes a noise, turning into it, chasing to catch my lips for a real kiss. He pulls back, blinking slow, shifting his hips, settling into the bath. 

"You're not angry?" He asks.

I shake my head. 

"I'm not angry if you're not angry." I say back.

He grins, slowly blinking at me. 

"I already expressed my anger." He says.

I roll my eyes, rocking my hips, hearing him exhales as I work his knot where it's locked inside of me. 

"Yeah, big man?" I coo, teasing. "Did breeding my tight little pussy tame the beast inside of you?" 

Clay groans, but his hands tighten on my hips. "Stop, sweetheart, you can't talk like that if you want my knot to ever go down." He mumbles. 

I rock my hips again, like a challenge. "What if I don't?" I ask, tilting my head as he looks at me, leaning back. "What if I liked being stretched on my alpha's cock like his little knotwarming whore?" I tease, then flutter my pussy.

Clay takes a stuttered breath, his cock twitching with interest inside of me. He buckles over to land his face in my neck, exhaling sharply. Smug, I bring both hands to his shoulders to soothe him through it.

"Please, sweetheart." He chastises, rocking his hips up into me like it's inevitable.

I can't help that I laugh, but, I relent. 

"Fine, fine. I'll stop." I grumble, before I can stop myself, I tag on a tease. "I'm not your little omega whore."

Clay pulls back from my neck, looking up at me, shaking his head. He flicks his eyes down my face, melting into a tender expression. 

"I don't know what I'd do without you." He starts, soft, meeting my eyes. "I love you." He says.

I freeze, heart thumping in my throat. It's the first time he's said that. I take a moment to catch my breath, blinking back at him.

"I love you, too." I admit back, warming as I watch his face melt into a smile.

Clay presses forward, burying back in my neck, taking a deep inhale.

"You smell like mine." He says, breath hot against my neck.

I turn my face back into his hair, inhaling, eyes fluttering shut, thinking the same thing. 

***

Hours later, after cleaning the mess we made of each other, and washing away the day, we wind up in our bed, limbs tangled, hands exploratory. 

Clay stuffs his hand up my shirt, or, more accurately, his shirt that I'm wearing. His hand is massive and warm, spread across my ribcage as he drags soothing circles with his thumb into my skin. The bed feels full, right, his previously fading scent refreshing as he presses his face into my stomach, keeping me pinned under him.

I lift my hand, carding my fingers into his hair, dragging with my nails to scratch the base of his neck, relaxed. 

"I missed you in here." I mumble out.

"I hated the couch, sweetheart." He says back, voice muffled from where it's pressing into my stomach. 

"I'm sorry." I say back, weighted.

It's a simple apology, but it means more than just the couch. It's sorry for everything. 

Clay lifts himself, paused, meeting my eyes. He shifts up my body, climbing the mattress until we're face to face.

"It's okay." He says, soft, genuine, understanding. "Just don't do it again." 

I nod, whimpering, lifting my face, desperate for affection. Clay doesn't disappoint, leaning in to catch my lips, pressing a feather soft kiss that I smile into. 

"But how else—" I press a chaser kiss as he pulls back. "Will I get my alpha to fuck me that hard and breed me like a bitch?" 

Clay finishes, pulling back, glaring down at me as I smile up at him. I push my tongue out, slowly dragging it along my lower lip. It catches his eyes. His face softens as he tracks the movement, until I'm done and he looks back up at me with a neutral expression.

"Ask." He says, simple, then buries his face back into my neck. 

Noted.

I turn my face back into his hair, taking a steadying inhale, relaxed. Our scents mingle together perfectly, so much of me marking him, and so much of him marking me. We ooze domestic bliss, in our fucked up cum-marking, slick-down your chin, I killed a man for you, own way.


End file.
